We can't speak for you, and you can't speak for us

A big part of the reason I began writing about this was because I started to notice that “death” was becoming a more prevalent conversation starter. Stories of widows popping up more (my mom co-creating a widows club that meets in our backyard every so often) and my mom notifying me every time there is someone who dies in our area- especially if they have a kid. I always really appreciated being able to talk to someone my own age about it all, and I really am persistent about making sure other’s who have lost family members know I’m here to talk to. But the thing is, that’s not fair. This pressure is put on kids who have lost family members to talk, talk it out, talk about your feelings- otherwise something is wrong. Now, if you know me at all, you know that’s not an issue for me. I am the first one to get up and express myself and I’ll do it loud and clear. But, I didn’t understand that wasn’t the case for everyone. My twin sister, for example, is not this way. She is quiet, and reserved. She doesn’t need to talk, she doesn’t want to talk, she doesn’t have to talk. My mom, over time, keeps the talking short. Most people do as well. I craved to talk about it with my sister, and other people who lost family members because I needed validation on what I was feeling. The only real feedback I was getting though, was from my therapist and various adults. I took the words, because I needed something, anything. Seven years later, I’ve found myself almost filled with rage about talking about death. I’m 19 years old now and I want to talk about my dad and death. But I missed the boat I guess, and no one else does anymore. As I want to see more pictures of him around, the more they seem to be disappearing, the more I want to talk about him, the less people are. The more memories I want people to tell me about, the further they get. I’m at an age where I’m finally learning who my dad was. I’m anxious to hear stories about him, watch videos, look at photos, and talk about him. It’s hard, though. Since he passed away I feel like people still see me as the 12 year old I was, reluctant to share stories about him. I always get compared to him and told I look/am like him, but I don’t know what that really means. My dad loved to drink, and smoke, and yell, and laugh, and make others laugh, and enjoy life. He was a “funny guy” a “great guy” and “unique.” There they are. The three sayings I was given for six years and I’m done with it. Being in college I’ve become obsessed with learning about my dad. I went to school in New York because that’s where he grew up, I tear apart our bookshelves looking for videos of him, read stories he wrote, ask people to tell me stories about him. Digging up information about him is painfully hard, and that’s what hurts the most. I want to talk about him to all my friends and tell them stories about how fucking amazing he was. Everyone else got 47 years of stories, and I only got 12, most of which I don’t remember. I don’t want to ask you to tell me stories, you still get uncomfortable and end with one of the three go-to sayings. Just tell me dumb stories about him, funny ones, drunk ones, crazy ones, serious ones, anything. Just tell me a story so I can listen, and learn. You don’t know that I want this, and that’s okay, but I’m telling you all now, I really want this, and I really need this. Dealing with deaths for adult and children is vastly different. And I haven’t dealt with death as an adult, so I wont’ speak for how it is. I can tell you how I feel about being an adult and dealing with death, and you sure as hell know I will. But remember, you also cannot speak for dealing with death as a child. Even if you did, it is not the same for anyone. Just because a child comes off one way, or says one thing, or appears as a certain way, you do not know what they are thinking. Please do not try and speak for us, and we won’t speak for you. You can say how you think we should act, and trust me, you do. I will tell you why I don’t like the way you’re acting, and trust me, I will. But remember at the end of the day. My dad died, and your husband died—they are the same person, but not the same situation.